Perfect
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: Songfic to 'Perfect' by Alanis Morissette. Spanning through Draco's childhood at 5 years at a time, this gives you my interpretation on what makes Malfoy such a pain-in-the bum. One of my most appreciated fics, I believe.
1. Age 5

Disclaimer: Song's not mine, characters aren't mine. 'Nuff said._  
  
Sometimes is never quite enough  
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love  
Don't forget to win first place  
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face_  
  
The tiny golden head bobbed around the man's knee.  
"Daddy," chirped a voice. The man, tall and sleek, ignored the call and drummed his fingers restlessly on the table. The little boy, pushing back fair hair from his eyes, frowned lightly. "Dad-_dy_."  
"How much you will you pay for this?" The man gestured vaguely to a small black book beside him. "It's a genuine Riddle heirloom." A serviceman behind the counter grimaced, running a hand through his greasy hair.  
"I don't know, Lucius. It looks rather worn out--" A pound of a pale fist on the counter stopped him mid-sentence.  
"Worn out my ass! Borgman, I _need _this money!" The man, anger twisting his features, picked up the book and shook it in Borgman's face. "This is wonderfully preserved, as old as it is! You should jump at the chance for such a--"  
"All right." The serviceman held up his hands in defeat. "All right. How about... 12 Sickles?"  
"Twelve?! Twelve Sickles? I--" The child, unable to be ignored any longer, shifted impatiently and tugged on a fold of the man's black pant leg.  
"Daddy!" The man whirled, eyes flashing, and gave the boy a hard, sharp smack.  
"Hold your tongue, Draco," he hissed. The boy clutched his cheek with a surprised whimper. This seemed too much for the wide-eyed Borgman; he shook his head and began backing away.  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I can't buy anything from you today." Without waiting for a response, he slipped to the back of the shop and through a door. It shut with a click. The man stared at the closed door incredulously. Then, realizing what had happened, he snatched the book from the counter and cursed hotly. He turned on the boy, black cloak circling behind him ominously.  
"You speak when spoken to," snarled the man, "And only then. Is that understood?" Frozen with fear, the child began to nod, but did not do so quick enough. There was the man's fist again, swift and strong. The boy yelped in pain and shock. The noise made a few people look at him, but the response was as usual; they lowered their gazes and went on. A hand flew beneath the boy's chin to jerk it up roughly, making him meet with those cold gray eyes. Eyes that made him shiver. "Is. That. Un...der...stood?" He nodded, quickly this time. The man released his chin and stalked for the exit, muttering the hot words that were forbidden to children. A command, cold and blunt, was tossed over his shoulder. "Come, Draco." The boy, clutching his cheek to ease the sting, scurried after him. He hoped the man wouldn't notice that his eyes were brimming with tears.  
  
_Be a good boy  
Try a little harder  
You've got to measure up  
Make me prouder_  
  
The coach ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. The little boy called Draco was still too young to have his feet graze the floor, so he just swung them back and forth nervously. He shifted in anxiety and kept a wary eye on the dark, unpredictable thing that was his father.  
"Your mother tells me your skills are slipping." Malfoy turned his steely gaze from the window to his son. "She says you've been fumbling along in your studies." Draco fidgeted anxiously.  
"It's _hard_, Daddy. She won't help me. She says they won't help me at Piggywarts."  
"Hogwarts," the man corrected with a sneer. The child winced and tried to burrow into his seat.  
"Hogwarts," he whispered. Malfoy went on with an impatient wave of his hand.  
"She's right. You need to learn how to perform simple magic now or you won't even be able to hold a wand when you're older." Draco sniffled into his sleeve.  
"I can hold a wand, Daddy." The man's eyes glinted angrily.  
"Don't smart mouth me, Draco." The little boy flinched automatically, waiting for a slap in return for his impudence. When none came, he stifled a sigh of relief and waited as his father went on. "You are going to study harder and do better so as to be prepared when you go to Hogwarts. You only have 6 more years to ready yourself." Draco chewed his lower lip uncertainly.  
"But..." Lucius snapped his head up, the anger in his eyes turning--or ready to turn--to violence.  
"But?"  
"But I was thinking," the little boy added hurriedly, "that I might have a break once in a while to play? I think I'm working too hard, because I just can't concentrate when all I do is study. I might do better that way--"  
"You will do better the way I tell you to!" boomed Malfoy, the tone in his voice making the young boy jump. "We went through enough shit before, Draco! It was nearly impossible to make that twit Dumbledore agree to let you practice with a wand, and now you don't even touch it!" _I touch it every day_, thought Draco earnestly,_ I hardly put it down until you leave._ Lucius's eyes narrowed, giving the child the impression that he read minds. The boy swallowed. His father glared at him, then seemed to calm. "All right. If you don't want to study, that's just fine with me." He glanced out the window nonchalantly. "Your mother and I will discuss it and we'll send you to live with that awful family of Mudbloods we've told you about." Draco's eyes widened in fright.  
"I'm doing good, Daddy, really! I really am!" The thought of living with Muggles was more than he could bear.  
" 'Good' is not going to be enough," his father said in disgust. The man's profile, rigid against the velvet seat, sneered with distaste. " 'Good' is for halfbloods and Muggles. You are a Malfoy and you will do _flawlessly_. Understood?" The little boy blinked, not knowing what the word meant. Facing the fear of another smack, he nodded.  
"Flawlessly." Malfoy nodded too, then smiled. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.  
"Good." He glanced out the window again. Just as Draco was enjoying the relief of having his father's gaze lifted from him, a hill loomed in the distance. On the hilltop sat a great black monster, a monster with blank staring eyes and a hungry gaping mouth. His tiny hands clenched the velvet cushion in fear. Then the beast got nearer and the beast wasn't a beast but a house. His house.  
Malfoy Manor.  
  
The coach slowed to a halt and was immediately ambushed by several small house elves. They crowded around it, wringing their hands nervously and trying to find some way to help. One reached up hopelessly to try and open the door, but it banged open on his face. With a squeal of pain, the unfortunate elf clutched his throbbing nose and scrambled out of the way. Malfoy's black-booted feet clicked harshly on the stone-paved pathway, narrowly missing a house elf. Draco, still half worried that the house would swallow him up, struggled down from the high step of the carriage and scampered towards the door. His mother waited there, blonde hair pulled so tightly into a bun it looked painted on.  
"Mummy!" he cried, stretching his arms to be picked up. Lucius shot him a deadly look, his eyes seeming to say that no son of his would run to his mother. Draco lowered his arms.  
  
The tall, willowy woman patted him absently on the head.  
"Mm hm. Draco, why don't you run inside and get washed up for dinner?" He frowned slightly, noting the look on his mother's face, but began inching through the doorframe.  
"Yes, Mummy." Draco turned and scampered for the kitchen to hurriedly scrub his hands. His parents' tense voices drifted through the doorway, following him.  
"You can stop checking my breath for alcohol, woman. I haven't had any today."  
"I was giving you a kiss."  
"I told you, I haven't had any!" Draco frowned as the front door slammed, followed by heavy footsteps.  
"So where are you going then, hm? To the liquor cabinet straight away? Wouldn't want to be sober longer than you have to." There was a tense pause. The tap water was running over the little boy's hands, unheeded.  
"Watch your mouth, Narcissa." Malfoy's voice was quiet and deadly. "The boy's already tried my patience."  
"He didn't have to try very long!" His mother's voice had become high pitched and wavering. A dark mutter came from his father.  
"Now I see where he gets it from."   
"Oh, and you're a fallen Evangelist, hm?" spat Mrs. Malfoy.  
"Narcissa, I'm warning you..." Footsteps went up the stairs.  
"Don't you dare open another bottle of scotch, Lucius Malfoy! Don't you _dare!_" Narcissa's command was nearly a shriek of panic.  
"Ungrateful bitch." Then a door slammed. Draco's eyes were wide open, his lip trembling. Suddenly, the water got hot and he yelped, snatching his hands away. He quickly shut off the tap and dried off his fingers. The shouting had begun again, upstairs now and louder. The little boy, blue eyes wide, searched desperately for something--_anything_--that would stop the screams of his angry parents. Then an idea struck. He hurried, tiny feet pattering on the kitchen floor, to find his wand.  
  
_How long before you screw it up  
How many times do I have to tell you to hurry up  
With everything I do for you  
The least you can do is keep quiet  
  
_"Help! Mummy! Daddy!" The panic-stricken voice brought both Malfoys running downstairs. _"Help!" _  
Narcissa got there first.  
"Draco! What _happened?!"_ The turkey on the table was on fire, flames licking higher and higher. Lucius skidded around the corner and let out a surprised yell. The little boy pointed wordlessly at the blazing turkey. Malfoy growled and whipped out his wand, firing it at the bird.  
_"Hydrius!"_ The flames went out with an indignant hiss, leaving a charred turkey and a silent kitchen. Malfoy, panting from his stumble down the stairs, tucked away his wand and jabbed a finger at the table. "How... did this... happen?" Draco fumbled with his wand in his hands.  
"Well... I..."  
"How did this _happen?_" repeated his father, words going even softer. The little boy stammered,  
"I... I was trying to conjure that special... special sauce that you like and--" His explanation was cut short by a sharp smack to his cheek.  
"Lucius!" shrieked Narcissa, hands pressing to her face. Malfoy ignored her; he smacked Draco again.  
"What were you _thinking?!_ Dinner is ruined!"  
"Lucius, I can fix another! He was only trying to help!" Draco yelped and tried to shield himself from the blows. This seemed to make Malfoy even angrier. The hitting became almost rhythmic.  
"Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid--"  
_"Lucius!"_ The screech of terror threw him off. His next smack was the last, but the hardest--Draco fell to the ground, whimpering and clutching his face. Lucius glared down at him, eyes wild. Narcissa stared at her fallen, sniffling son. "Lucius, you son of a--" Malfoy muttered something incoherently and whirled.  
"I'm getting a drink." Within moments, his footsteps thundered upstairs.  
  
Narcissa bent and put her hands on Draco's silver-blonde hair.  
"Draco, honey, are you all right?" The little boy turned his face upwards, making her gasp; a small bruise had already begun to form on his cheek. There was a tiny bit of blood gathering at the corner of his mouth. The woman chewed her lower lip and touched his face gingerly. "I'll get a washcloth." Draco glanced away, looking somber. Narcissa hurried to the sink, wet a small rag, and rushed back to her son. She knelt and put a hand beneath his chin. "Let me see." Reluctantly, the little boy returned his gaze to his mother, wincing as she dabbed at the blood on his mouth.  
"Ow."  
"I know, dear." Narcissa bit her lip again. "We might need some raw meat for that eye..." She paused, then began cooling his forehead with the washcloth. "Draco," she said very quietly, tipping his chin up with her free hand, "why didn't you just wait for me to help you? I could've conjured that sauce for--"  
"I wasn't conjuring sauce," whispered the child, eyes downcast. Narcissa blinked.  
"Then how did the--"  
"I set it on fire on purpose." Her healing hands paused, nearly dropping the rag.  
"What?" She searched for the right word, then finally came up with, "_Why?"_  
"You two were fighting. I wanted you to stop." The little boy finally looked up, and his eyes held a knowing that shouldn't _be _in eyes so young. "I knew he was going to hit one of us," he said, and then his voice dropped to a whisper. "I figured it should be me." Narcissa stared at her son, mouth slightly open in disbelief. A dull roar from above broke the silence.  
"_Narcissa!_ Where'd you put my whiskey?!" Draco's mother closed her eyes. The little boy pulled his chin away and lowered his eyes.  
"You'd better give it to him," he murmured, dragging a hand across his face, "Maybe he'll pass out and leave us alone for the night." His mother blinked, let out a small cry and embraced him tightly. Malfoy Manor fell silent, save for the rumbles of Lucius and the weeping of Narcissa.  



	2. Age 10

_Be a good boy  
Try a little harder  
That simply wasn't good enough  
To make us proud  
  
_A young boy sat silently in the study, a fire roaring at his back. A slender wooden wand rested in one hand while he ran a fingertip over the pages of an old book. A small frown creased his pale face as he paused, tapping the words, then lifted his wand.  
"_Accio candlestick_," he ordered in a quiet voice. A silver candlestick flew to his outstretched hand. The young boy smiled and set down the heirloom, turning hastily to his work. The candlestick teetered dangerously on the edge of the desk before plunging to the hardwood floor below. Silver met oak with a sharp bang. The boy gasped, pale face tightening, and jumped to his feet. He scurried to the candlestick and picked it up gingerly, inspecting it for damage. There was a noticeable, ugly ding in the side.  
  
Round blue-gray eyes widened as he stared at the product of his clumsiness, turning it over between his fingers.  
"Oh, no," the little boy whispered. He stared at the candlestick in terror, as if it might bite him, for another few seconds. Then footsteps thundered towards the study. He gasped and tucked it into his shirt, scrambling into the chair he had been in. The door banged open, and there was the beast. The beast called Daddy.  
"Out," he growled. The little boy sent a glance towards his books.  
"But Daddy, I'm working on my--"  
"Out," repeated Lucius, hands clenching in fists of anger. Draco didn't need to be told three times; he scurried from his chair towards the door.  
"Yes, Daddy."  
"Draco, stop a moment." The little boy skidded to a halt, turning to his father.  
"Yes, Daddy?" The tall man with blonde hair was hunched over at the desk.  
"Tell _Her _that I'm meeting with some friends. She's not to bother me." Draco acknowledged this with a meek nod. His parents had been fighting for a long time, and up until his tenth birthday last week, the manor was filled with shouts and curses. Then, when he finally reached the age of double digits, his father had decided not to speak of his mother. Narcissa was therefore known as She or Her. His mother didn't even seem to know Lucius existed anymore; he wasn't referred to as anything. Draco hated being the messenger between these two, but it was better than the screams and slaps.  
  
The little boy headed for the door, knowing his father's scary friends would be apparating any moment. Just as he started out, the dented candlestick fell out of his shirt and rolled across the floor. Draco watched with abject terror as the ruined antique stopped at his father's feet. Lucius stared down at the candlestick.  
"What is this?" he asked quietly. The little boy automatically winced. It would have been better if he yelled, because anger was in yelling. Quiet meant the anger was boiling up, and then it would be in his fists instead of his voice.  
"I was practicing like you asked me to, Daddy," Draco explained, his own voice remarkably steady. That was odd, considering his legs felt like jelly. "I said 'accio candlestick' and it came, but then it fell and it got dinged up. I was going to magick it, make it better--" Lucius bent and picked up the silver treasure, the treasure his son had ruined.  
"My mother gave this to me," he growled, and Draco knew the rage was coming.  
"I'm very sorry, Daddy, I'm sure I could fix it--" There was the first clout, a smack to his jaw. The little boy stumbled back.  
"You can't fix this! This is an _heirloom_, you stupid boy! Can't you touch _anything _without breaking it?!" Lucius towered above him, blows raining down like thunder and lightning.  
"I'm sorry, Daddy, really I am! Please, I'm sorry--" Yelping like a puppy, Draco tried his best to keep from falling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" Lucius glared at him, pausing the smacks, resentful that his son had not yet given in. He was supposed to fall and cry, that's how it always worked. Malfoy raised his arm to strike him again when an icy voice from the doorway stopped him.  
"You're a true bastard, Lucius Malfoy. Do you know that?" Draco whirled to look at his mother. _No, no, no,_ his mind pleaded. _Go back, go away, let him finish me..._  
"What did you say, Narcissa?" Lucius's lip curled in a snarl.  
"You heard perfectly well what I said," hissed Narcissa. "You're a bastard and a bully and a cowardly ball of slime, Lucius. He is your _son_, not a dog to be kicked whenever you're in a foul mood." Draco shook his head, trying to imagine that this wasn't happening._ No no no no...  
_"Get out, Draco." His father's voice had dropped to a whisper._ Yell at her,_ begged the little boy silently. _Yell at her, please, don't hurt her. Hurt _me_, please, don't hurt her..._ His lips, however, were far ahead of his mind.  
"Yes, Daddy." Draco walked slowly out the door. Narcissa glanced at him softly, then returned her gaze to Lucius. The kind look was a glare now.  
"Your father and I have something to discuss." His mother slid into the study towards Lucius, slowly, deliberately. The door was slammed shut by unseen hands, and then Draco was alone. He didn't want to hear what was coming next--he _knew_. With tiny hands clapped to tiny ears, the little boy turned and ran up the stairs.  
  
_I'll live through you, I'll make you what I never was  
If you're the best, then maybe so am I  
Compared to him, compared to her  
  
_Draco crept quietly up to his father, who sat slumped at the desk.  
"Daddy," he whispered. Lucius tilted his head very slightly upwards, gray eyes scanning the little boy for faults. His lip curled just enough for Draco to notice.  
"What?" The cold, drawled word made the little boy shiver.  
"I... I was wondering... if I could... see Mummy?" Lucius arched a fine golden brow.  
"You were wondering if you could see_ Her?" _he asked softly. Draco shifted a little, then nodded.  
"I heard she wasn't feeling well. I... I brought her..." The child held up a small bouquet of flowers. "I conjured them from my spell book." Lucius pursed his lips in mock deep thought.  
"You can try, boy, but I don't think She'll be awake. She's rather..." His father gave him a tight-lipped smile. "..._tired_." Draco blinked, then lowered the flowers.  
"All right. I'll just... I'll knock and see if she's awake." Lucius returned his gaze to the book before him.  
"Go on. I don't care. Let the woman sleep her life away if she wants to." The man sneered to himself. "Lazy wench."  
  
A small, pale fist knocked quietly on the door.  
"Mummy?" When no response came, Draco rapped again. "Mummy?"  
"Come in," whispered a tired voice. The little boy swallowed slightly, a bit nervous at what he'd find. He turned the knob and slid into the bedroom. It was almost completely dark inside. The curtains had been drawn tightly shut and the only light was a dimly burning candle beside the bed. Narcissa lay quietly in bed. Draco couldn't see her face.  
"I knew you weren't feeling well," he said softly, inching towards his mother, "so I brought you these." Draco hesitated, then held out the bundle of flowers.  
"That's very sweet." Narcissa's voice was weak and slightly trembling. "Would you put them in the vase on the nightstand, please?" The little boy nodded and slipped the flowers into the crystal bottle. He paused, then stood next to his mother's bed.  
"Are you feeling any better, Mummy?" Draco glimpsed Narcissa's eyes, which were gazing towards the window. They looked tired and pained. One was turning purple around the outside.  
"Not... not quite, Draco dear." Her painful eyes flicked downwards. "I... your father..." Narcissa faltered again, then sighed quietly. "I'm just going to stay out of your father's way for a while. He's like a stormcloud right now, just ready to--" Her voice trembled. Draco bit his lip. His mother was usually so strong, so independent. Narcissa sighed again, then went on. "He'll strike again if he's angered. Just stay out of his way, dear. He's liable to do anything." This conversation had tired her; Narcissa closed her eyes and made a soft sound of pain.  
"Mummy," ventured Draco quietly. One eyelid cracked open.  
"Yes, Draco?" The little boy shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. There were no right words for the question he wanted to ask.  
"Why does Daddy do this to us?" Just as he thought, the question caught his mother by surprise.  
"I don't know, love. Some people just..." Narcissa paused, then closed her eyes in defeat. "I'm tired, Draco. Go tell your father I won't be out for dinner."  
  
Draco stared at his mother quietly. This woman was so strong, so smart, so capable of what she wanted to do. And his father had broken her. The little boy frowned with knowledge not meant for his age. He understood now; you did what Daddy wanted, did not speak against Daddy, did not stand in Daddy's way. If you disobeyed these rules--you were punished. Severely. And you were never the same again._  
_


	3. Age 15

There was a light rap on the door.  
"What do you want? I'm busy." The young man sat cross-legged on his bed, papers and books strewn haphazardly in front of him. He had a very pale, pointed face that would've been quite handsome, had a sneer not been lingering on his lips. Eyes of gray flicked about the parchments before him as he fiddled with his quill. "McGongall'll want hers in on time, the old bird, but Snape'll give me a little extra--oh, what do you want?!" He threw up his arms in frustration as the knock came again.  
"Unlock this door, boy," snarled a voice. The boy rolled his steely eyes as he pointed his wand at the door. It opened with a click, and in stormed the tall man. There wasn't a garment on him that wasn't pitch black. "What are you doing, locking me out?"  
"Homework, Father," the boy muttered. "Just because it's holiday doesn't mean I'm on vacation." Lucius pursed his lips as he closed the door behind him.  
"Don't get smart with me, Draco." His son curled a lip as he shuffled through his parchments, muttering incoherently. Lucius arched a silvery brow. "What did you say?" Draco looked up with a grin too large to be honest.  
"I said 'whatever you wish, Father dear.' "  
"You're really pushing it." Draco scowled at his father's words.  
"I'm just doing what you've always wanted me to do; old nose to the grindstone, right?" When no response came, he picked up a report on belladonna and pretended to be interested in it. "How's she doing?" he asked quietly.  
"Who knows?" Lucius growled, stalking over to the window. "She won't even come downstairs anymore. She won't let me in to speak with her. I swear, that woman--"  
"And you've given her loads of reasons to leave her room, right?" The words came out as an angry hiss, making Lucius's head snap up.  
"What did you say?" His voice was quiet, but Draco could care less.  
"You beat the poor woman half to death on a regular basis! I wouldn't be surprised if--" In one swift motion, Lucius grabbed him by the collar and pushed his face towards his son's.  
"You are _never _to say that _ever _again, do you understand?" Draco, too angry to realize what he was doing, glared at his father with pure hatred.  
"I will say it as many times as I want because it's the truth! Let go of me!" Malfoy stared at him in shock, then recovered his scowl and slammed Draco against the headboard of the bed.  
"You are not to speak to me with such insolence. I am your father!" The boy gritted his teeth.  
"And I am your son! Doesn't that mean _anything _to you?!" Lucius blinked those icy eyes. Draco could actually see the rage bubbling up behind them. When no words came, the young man glanced down at the ground. "Forget it. Put me down." There was a moment of silence, tense silence that was almost tangible. Then the rage broke through and Malfoy did put him down--Lucius lifted Draco from the headboard and, putting every ounce of strength he had into his arms, threw him to the ground. His son hit the floor with a meaty thud. Pain screamed through Draco's body, causing a cry to attempt escape. No, he wouldn't let his father know, would show no weakness. The yelp choked in his throat, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of hatred and fear. He lifted his head and glared up at his father.  
"I hate you." The young man said each word slowly, deliberately, his tone acid enough to eat through steel. Lucius simply sneered at the insult.  
"I wasn't fond of my father either, boy."  
"Yeah, and look how good you turned out," hissed Draco through his teeth. The room was silent again, thick with the promise of more anger and violence._  
  
I'm doing this for your own damn good  
You'll make up for what I blew  
What's the problem  
Why are you crying  
  
_"On your feet, boy," snarled Lucius. "We'll settle this like men." Draco hauled himself to a kneeling position.  
"I'm not going to fight you." His father didn't heed his words; Malfoy snatched the boy's wand from the bed and tossed it to him.  
"On your feet. Stand and deliver." Draco let the wand roll to his feet. He didn't touch it.  
"I'm not like you, you violent bastard," hissed the young man, anger making his words hot. Lucius stared at him, then grinned darkly.  
"You were always a pansy. A sissy boy. Never good at anything." Malfoy scowled down at his son, giving him a kick in the side. "Get up, you yellow little coward." Draco winced at the kick, struggling to his feet.  
"No. Leave me alone!" He wobbled a little, the pain even stronger. His gray eyes welled up with hot tears; tears of anger, resentment, pain, humiliation. "Just go away." Lucius stuck his face in front of Draco's, seizing him by the collar again.  
"Are you_ crying?_" he said, the syllables drawling tauntingly. It was all Draco could do to not to curse his father right there.  
"Put me down."  
"Boy, I will put you down when I'm good and ready." Draco could feel the anger inside, boiling like a pot left too long on the stove.  
"Put me down right now--_Father_." Lucius, the irritating little smirk still on his lips, lifted Draco a bit off the floor.  
"Stop crying, you little pansy. You're a sorry excuse for a Malfoy." The young man, feet grazing the floor, stared at his father. There was a short pause, and then the anger broke free.  
"You bloody son of a bitch! Put me down this instant, you spiteful bastard! Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to _be _a Malfoy?!" The burst of rage caught Malfoy by surprise; he stared at his son in almost comical shock.  
"What did you say?" The young man began struggling violently.  
"I don't want to be a Malfoy!" Rage coarsed through his body, making him stronger than before. Draco landed Lucius a good hard kick in the shin. His father winced slightly, but didn't cry out. He pushed his tight, pale face into his son's.  
"The blood of Salazar Slytherin runs in your veins, boy," whispered Lucius. "The pure, untainted blood of the Dark Lord coarses through you and you _don't want to be a Malfoy?_" Draco's lips were pressed tightly together, his eyes narrowed, body rigid.  
"No." Again came that awful silence. The very air vibrated with the rage coming from father and son. Lucius' cold gray eyes bored into Draco's. The boy stared back in firey rebellion, knowing quite well the danger he was facing. This had gone on too long; he didn't care any more. Draco met his father's steely gaze steadily and, just to spite his father, sneered.  
  
Lucius snapped.  
  
With a surge of adrenaline-pumped power, the man hurled his son into a full-length mirror that hung on the wall. Draco's back met glass with an immense shatter. The mirror splintered, razor-sharp pieces rising into the air like a horde of silver butterflies. The glinting remnants lingered in the air for a moment, then fell to the ground in a shower of sparkles. Draco lay on the floor, eyes open in shock, too much in pain to move. For a moment, Lucius seemed surprised as well. Then his stony disposition returned.  
"Get up, boy." Draco tried not to wince in pain and failed.  
"I can't." Malfoy glared down at his son.  
"What do you _mean _you can't? Get _up_."  
"My back. It hurts--a lot," murmured the boy. Lucius growled, appalled at the inconviencence presented to him, and dropped to a knee.  
"You still say you don't want to be a Malfoy?" Draco met eyes with his father and, through the pain, nodded.  
"Yes." This, apparently, was not the right answer. Lucius grabbed his son by the silver-blonde hair and turned his face towards the ground.  
"Look at yourself. _Look_." Draco stared at the shattered fragments of a mirror on the ground. There were too many pieces to count; a thousand pale faces stared back at him. Malfoy pointed. "You see that? You see? Your eyes. They're already completely changed. You_ see?_" Much as he didn't want to admit it, Draco could plainly see the eyes that had once been so blue had slowly been faded to gray.  
"So?" he muttered, not yet willing to drop his defiance.  
"You cannot change your blood, boy, no matter how much you hate it," snarled Malfoy. He pushed his son's face closer to the jagged pieces. "You are a Malfoy, and a Malfoy you will always be."_  
  
Be a good boy  
Push a little farther now  
That wasn't fast enough  
To make us happy  
  
_A hot tear landed on a piece of the mirror with a plop, marring the reflection.  
"Whatever you say, Father dear," Draco whispered. Lucius released his hair and stood, sneering down at his son with contempt.  
"Clean this up." The man began for the door slowly. Each step crunched glass harshly. Malfoy paused by Draco's bed, then snatched the wand from the ground. "You are not to heal yourself by any means. If you do, I shall see to it that you are punished." He pointed a long, threatening finger at the boy. "You are not to tell a soul of what happened in this room. Your 5th year starts next week, and I'll be damned if you dirty our family name more than you already have." And then the door opened, releasing the black ominous figure from the room. Draco laid on the ground, debating whether to stand or not. Any movement made his back ache. But his father had said to clean up the room, and as much as he detested the orders, he did what he was told.  
  
Draco heaved himself to a sitting position and, tears streaming down his face, set off to find a broom._  
  
We'll love you  
Just the way you are  
If you're perfect_


End file.
